Chapter 19

"Grok, I don't see any clocks here. How do your people tell time?" Ignis inquired over the mental group chat.

"Orcs have four primary time periods: Night, Dawn, Noon, and Dusk," Grok explained, her voice slightly condescending, as if addressing a group of children. "Each Dawn marks the beginning of a new day. We have approximately ninety days in each season: Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. A complete cycle of these four seasons constitutes a year."

"I understand," Ignis continued his line of questioning. "What about celestial events like lunar and solar eclipses?"

"Translation magic provides a meaning for your words," Grok replied, "but I have never witnessed such phenomena."

"I suspect that your three moons are too small to cause lunar eclipses," Pierce interjected. "And a slight axial tilt of your planet outside of its elliptical plane could prevent solar eclipses from occurring. Earth possesses a unique combination of factors that allow us to experience both these events, making it quite extraordinary within the cosmos."

"Are you a cosmologist?" Evolon inquired with a curious, almost suspicious, glance.

Pierce blushed slightly, "I met a woman who was fascinated by astronomy, so I enrolled in a few university courses to better understand her interests."

"The things men will do to procreate," Evolon remarked, shaking her head in disbelief. "Did you ever seal the deal?"

Pierce blushed deeply, "Nope, I think she's gay. And I think she thought I was gay too. It was a very awkward evening, more like a girls' night out in retrospect."

"You can't win them all," Evolon chuckled, "Given my dating history, that encounter sounds like a resounding success compared to my experiences."

Flint, joining the conversation from the mental group chat as the group strolled through the bustling city streets, declared, "Oh come on, Evolon. You're one of the guys, but you're still a woman. You hold all the cards in the dating game. I'm sure there are at least three billion men back on Earth who would sell their mothers for a date with you."

Evolon sighed exasperatedly, "I feel like I've dated a billion of them. Tech bros, finance bros, bitcoin bros, muscleheads – you name it. All they were interested in was sex and bragging about themselves: their success, their wealth, their new Lamborghini, their Italian villa… They never actually showed any interest in me as a person."

"You know," Grok remarked to the group, "Orcs are much like that. The males beat their chests, fight with other Orcs, and try to impress me with displays of dominance, but I always say no. They never ask how my day was."

Evolon snorted, "I know exactly what you mean! I once had a guy at the gym try to convince me to sleep with him based solely on the size of his package, which, by the way, was clearly enhanced with a sock."

"Men!" Ignis exclaimed, shaking his head in agreement.

"I know, girl!" Flint chimed in.

"Oh no, he didn't!" Pierce exclaimed, finishing the joke with a burst of laughter.

"We're almost there," Grok cautioned. "Whatever you do, ignore any other Adventurers who try to challenge you to a duel or start a fight. There is absolutely no fighting allowed within the Guildhall."

Approaching the Adventurers' Guild, they found themselves facing a brutalist masterpiece. The ten-story building, over a hundred feet wide, was constructed from massive, intricately patterned stones that shifted between dark and light hues, creating a mesmerizing fractal effect. The entrance was dominated by a colossal metal door, adorned with a mosaic depicting two wolves locked in a ferocious battle. The handles of the double doors seamlessly transitioned into the sculpted wolves, their jaws inches from clashing, appearing almost lifelike. Grok gripped the head of the left wolf, pulling the heavy door open with surprising ease. She ushered the group inside and then quietly closed the door behind them.

"What architectural style would you call this?" Flint asked, clearly impressed. "I really like it."

"I seem to recall something about it," Pierce replied. "Dwarven architecture often leans towards Art Deco or Brutalist styles due to their affinity for stone and their underground lifestyle, while Elves favor the more organic and flowing lines of Art Nouveau, reflecting their connection to nature and trees."

"While I'm not entirely certain of the motivations behind it," Grok explained, "you're generally correct. Dwarves typically construct the Adventurers' Guilds, but the day-to-day operations are managed by the native creatures of the planet. This is stipulated in the contract that allows the Guild to establish a presence on all planets, ensuring their neutrality."

Evolon couldn't resist teasing her friend, "Let me guess, another woman at school studying to be an architect?"

Ignis, gazing in awe at the intricate Guildhall interior, declared, "Tolkien must have been an alien. There's no way a human could have conceived of this level of detail and accurately predicted so many aspects of otherworldly cultures."

The interior of the Guildhall was even more impressive than the exterior. Polished marble replaced the rough stone, creating a breathtakingly opulent space. A massive stone desk, manned by three imposing Orcs, dominated the area directly in front of the group. Above, the towering ceilings were adorned with intricately painted marble murals depicting Adventurers battling a menagerie of fearsome beasts.

As they approached the central desk, one of the Orcs, with a surprisingly cheerful demeanor, inquired, "What can I help you with today?"

"A happy Orc? Is that weird, or is it just me?" Evolon mused over the mental group chat, finding the cheerful Orc rather unsettling.

"This Orc is a retired Adventurer," Grok explained. "She has proven herself through countless battles and survived. Now, she enjoys a rewarding position within the Guild – a comfortable retirement, if you will. What's not to be happy about?"

"Group of newly formed Adventurers," Grok announced to the Orc at the desk. "Here to register and get our badges."

"Group Name?" the Orc inquired.

"Backup Plan," Grok replied.

The Orc diligently wrote in a large ledger and then stamped it with an official-looking seal. "That'll be two gold," she declared.

"What's with the entry fee?" Pierce questioned over the mental chat, handing the Orc two gold coins.

"It deters riffraff," Grok explained to the group. "It makes the process transactional, creating a sense of commitment and responsibility, rather than a casual inquiry."

"Skrat here will show you to your interview room," the Orc announced, handing a small piece of paper to a much younger Orc with a warm smile. "Have a great day!"

"Does she work on commission somehow?" Flint whispered, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Yes," Grok explained to the group as she nodded goodbye to Sally, "the receptionist's salary is supplemented by a small percentage of the fees that pass through their desk. I always try to use Sally whenever possible. She was the Adventurer who once single-handedly eradicated a vicious species of teleporting snakes that were terrorizing the stables and devouring Drake eggs."

"We really should implement that system at the DMV back home," Ignis remarked with a chuckle over the mental group chat.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The group navigated through a series of smooth stone hallways, illuminated at regular intervals by soft, circular glowing stones. After passing ten or so stone doorways, they were led into a room furnished with several comfortable leather chairs arranged around a sturdy stone table. The group entered and took their seats, awaiting the arrival of their interviewer.

"Is there anything I can do to expedite the process?" Grok inquired politely, tossing a gold coin towards the young Orc. The Orc deftly caught the coin in mid-air, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Yes Mam!" the young Orc whispered, closing the door softly behind him as he departed.

"I expected Orcs to be more about tribalism and honor, not all about business and contracts," Evolon joked with the group, her voice audible to everyone in the room.

"You walk into the movie expecting Rambo," Flint declared, slapping the table with a hearty laugh, "and instead you get Tulsa King – a big guy in a suit who'll punch you and then make you sign a contract giving away the family farm."

"Lunch?" Ignis offered, pulling a series of steaming plates and ice-cold canned drinks from his inventory.

"Magic is awesome!" Flint exclaimed, digging into the food with a wide grin.

Just as the group finished their meal, the door opened silently, and a large female Orc entered the room. She wore an eyepatch over one eye, her long black hair pulled back into a tight bun, and a well-worn brown leather dress. "Backup Plan?" she grunted, her voice laced with a hint of disdain. "Ugh, another group of idiots heading out into the world to get themselves killed."

"We are Backup Plan," Grok answered.

The old Orc shuffled towards the chair, her gaze lingering on each member of the party with a suspicious glare. She finally sat down heavily, opening a large, worn book. "Names?" she demanded.

"House, Arrow, Thor, Gandalf, and Azog," Grok replied, gesturing towards each party member in turn.

"Sure you are," the old Orc scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are they all mute, or just anonymous?"

"I talk," Ignis declared, adopting a theatrical, over-the-top British accent. "My mouth, it works."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Pierce exclaimed over the mental chat, sounding utterly bewildered.

"It's called 'incognito' for a reason," Ignis replied smugly over the mental chat. "I'm in character."

"You what, mate?" Evolon chimed in, mimicking Ignis's exaggerated accent. "We're bog-standard, grab ya brolly, and bob's your uncle."

The gruff Orc leaned forward, her single good eye gleaming with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. Her voice, like sandpaper on stone, rasped, "Alright, misfits. This is the Adventurers' Guild. This ain't no tea party. We're the ones who keep this city safe, hunt down the nasties that go bump in the night, and clean up the messes no one else wants. You think you got what it takes?"

She gestures around the small room. "This ain't no fancy place. We get the jobs no one else wants. Bandits, goblins, the occasional rogue griffin – you name it, we deal with it. But there's rules. First, you follow orders. If the Guildmaster says jump, you ask how high and then you leap. Second, you protect the innocent. No collateral damage, understand? Civilians come first, always. Third, you stick to the code. No stealing, no lying, no betraying your fellow adventurers. Break any of those rules, and you're out. Gone. Dust in the wind."

The Orc fixes each of the masked figures with her gaze, a flicker of something like pity in her eye. "Now, I don't know who you folks are, hiding behind your masks. But I can tell you this – the Guild ain't for the faint of heart. It's dangerous work. You could lose a limb, lose your life… or worse. But if you're truly looking for adventure, for a chance to make a difference, then welcome aboard. Now, let's see what you've got."

She slams her hefty tome onto the table, the pages crackling. "First quest, find Elara the Lost. She's a young Orc, wandered off into the Whispering Woods. Bring her back alive, and you'll earn your first badge. Any questions?"

"Wait, we have to audition for the Guild?" Pierce asked, bewildered.

"Entry is at the handler's discretion," the old Orc grumbled. "I don't like masked fools like you, and you must first prove to the Guild that you can be trusted with an innocent life before we will allow you membership. Now go, it's Noon, and poor Elara is cold and starving." The old Orc waved a dismissive hand, ushering the group out of the room.

"This is a common test of skill," Grok explained over the mental chat to the group. "Lok doesn't want to attach her name to an unproven group of misfits."

"We can't be just any geek off the street, got it," Flint acknowledged over the mental chat as they exited the Adventurers' Guild and stepped back onto the bustling stone streets of Dunblag.

"This way," Grok instructed, guiding the group through the crowd. "The Whispering Woods are located just outside the East Gate, about half a day's travel from the city."

The group made their way through the bustling city, passing numerous food carts, vendors, and even a few street musicians. Suddenly, Ignis stopped, his attention drawn to a small stage surrounded by a curious crowd. On the stage, a wiry, pale human man was addressing the crowd with an amplified voice.

“VANISHING BEFORE YOUR EYES!” The loud man said as he wiped a small white cloth over a dirty adventurer's muddy armor revealing a gleaming clean surface. “ONLY EBONS PURIFY CLOTH CAN CLEAN SUCH A MESS EASILY! Ebon, that is myself” the man says with a bow to the crowd. “Powerful Universal Remover of Impurities and Filth Yield. This cloth is enchanted with a permanent spell costing the user no mana and will clean anything it touches.

"I want one," Ignis declared over the mental group chat.

"Be careful," Grok warned. "These are normally some kind of scam."

"I have a good feeling about this," Pierce insisted, handing a pouch of gold to Ignis.

Moving to the front of the crowd, Ignis approached Ebon. "How much for two cloths?" he inquired.

"I like the look you got going on, kid," Ebon said, his voice booming as he played to the crowd. "For you, three gold each, or two for five gold!"

At the announcement of the cost, several members of the crowd dispersed, seemingly put off by the price. However, those who remained had a thoughtful look on their faces, as if carefully weighing the cost against the potential usefulness of such an item. Soon, a wave of excitement rippled through the crowd as several people raised their hands, each holding three gold coins.

Before anyone else could interject, Ignis smoothly palmed five gold coins and handed them to Ebon. He then deftly navigated his way through the increasingly frenzied crowd, returning to his friends with two gleaming white cloths in hand.

Handing one of the white cloths to Pierce, the group resumed their journey through the crowded street towards the East Gate.

"No more detours," Grok growled over the mental chat. "I don't want to fail this quest just because one of you fell for some scam."

Pierce, meanwhile, was intently inspecting the cloth. He recognized a few faint runes magically embedded within the fabric. Cross-referencing these unfamiliar symbols with the runes he had encountered while enchanting weapons and armor, his mind began to race, attempting to decipher the alien script.

"Healboy, get your head in the game!" Evolon shouted, snapping him back to reality. Pierce had become so engrossed in his mental musings that he had almost walked straight past a corner, oblivious to the group's change in direction.

At the East Gate, Grok exchanged a few words with the guards, tossing a coin to the largest of them. The guard grinned broadly as he pocketed the coin.

"I suspect new members of the Guild get the same quest," Grok explained to the group. "Confirmed from Raynog here. One of his men escorted our target through the woods not long ago. I am also warned to avoid tree roots. Some are a slime monster that will eat your foot off with acid the moment you put your weight on them. They are weak to water spells, of which none of us possess, and are immune to most weapon damage."

"At least they aren't cube-shaped," Flint quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"They should have named this planet Australia," Ignis declared, "where everything is trying to kill and eat you."

"Humans should try not being so tasty," Grok retorted, continuing the lighthearted banter.

Suddenly, Pierce exclaimed, "Hey, it stopped working!" His previously pristine white cloth now looked dingy, failing to remove a spot of dirt from the piece of armor he was rubbing.

"Proximity Scam," Grok explained. "The enchantment only works when you are close to the caster. Get far enough away, and it reverts to a common washcloth."

As the group made their way down the busy road away from the city, Pierce received a notification.

"New spell acquired: Purify - Touch a creature or object to clean up to five square feet of dirt, grime, rust, blood, or other non-magical filth. This spell has no effect on curses."

Pierce then proceeded to walk up to each party member, casting the newly acquired spell on them.

"WOW! I feel like I just took a refreshing shower!" Evolon exclaimed.

"Clothes are clean too, I like it!" Flint laughed.

"Even my underwear feels brand new," Ignis declared, pulling his hands from his pants. "That's it, no more showers. Just cast that crazy magic on me every day."

"How did you do that?" Grok asked, inspecting her now gleaming armor with astonishment.

"I just looked at the cloth," Pierce explained, "found its runes, compared them to my enchanting runes, and then tried to enchant it on my gloves. But somehow, the magic system interpreted that as casting a new spell and added it to my spell list. It reminds me of those LitRPG stories where the main character is obsessed with being clean yet somehow always ends up digging his way out of the interior of some giant beast covered in blood and excrement. We always handwave the whole hygiene issue in D&D, but I guess now I have a real way of solving that problem."

"Watch out," Flint declared, slapping Pierce's back with a hearty belly laugh. "We'll set up a stall back in town and charge Adventurers 1 gold per magic shower. We'll turn you into a glorified car wash."